Archive of Our Own

Colt Seavers has taken a lot of hits in his life. He had gotten into his fair share of fights in high school with people who thought it’d be fun to pick on someone who was smaller than them, conveniently forgetting that he was there to remind them to pick one someone their own size. And for God’s sake, he broke his spine eighteen months ago and spent the day getting set on fire and slammed into a rock because Jody really wanted to see him suffer, which, he really couldn’t blame her for. However, if he could do this over, he’d probably not jump from Ryder’s balcony and slam through two layers of fiberglass until landing in a shower of debris on his yacht. But hey, when you’re being shot at, what are you gonna do?

He groaned as he rolled over, pushing himself up from the ground with a wince. He stumbled down the stairs, looking out onto the docks to see two more of Ryder’s goons pointing rifles at his face. Colt’s panic surged as he turned around, just to stare into the eyes of the man himself. Tom fucking Ryder. He couldn’t even be mad; he was just tired and seriously in need of some coffee.

“Colt,” Tom said, with that same cocky, I’m Tom Ryder, and I’m better than you, tone that drove the stuntman insane. “Hey man.”

Something cracked against his skull. And then everything went dark. 

His head really hurt.

Colt jerked himself awake, immediately feeling the familiar burn of nylon against his skin as he struggled against his restraints. His hands are ziptied behind his back, not ideal. His adrenaline is starting to crash and he really needs a cup of coffee, also not great. He looked down at himself only to see the front of his shirt stained red- I didn’t wear a tie-dye shirt- and his head started to spin.

Ohhh, that’s my blood, Colt thought as black dots danced across his vision. That’s a lot of my blood that should not be out of my body but is currently out of my body. Why is it-

Oh that’s right.

Someone bashed my head in with the butt of a rifle.

That’s really not ideal.

Tom smirked, taking a few steps towards the restrained stuntman. “You remember old Dressy, right?”

Dressler greets himself with a punch that aims straight for his (probably) broken nose. He groaned internally as he blinked back the haze at the edge of his vision. Is my health insurance gonna cover this? Wait, do I even have health insurance?

Colt grunts as he turns back to face Ryder, sighing as Dressler nods politely. “Stuntman.”

He grimaced, feeling the sharp, stabbing pain in his neck as he tried to roll it out. “I never forget a fist,” he announced dryly, looking up at the man towering over him.

Ryder, probably aware that all the attention is no longer on him, cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said, like he was the one exhausted with the whole situation. Like he didn’t have a perfectly working, really expensive coffee maker right up in his house. “I’m gonna need the phone. Where is it?”

There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and Colt almost wondered if these psychopaths had- oh wait no, it’s just more blood that should be in his body but isn’t. Isn’t that just fantastic? He spit it out as Ryder, who seemed utterly incapable of not using his stupid mouth hole, kept talking. “It’s a matter of urgency. I need to know.”

Colt fought every instinct in his body to not roll his eyes as he heaved a sigh, tilting his head back to avoid any more blood that needed to be inside his body from dripping out of his (definitely) broken nose. “Right,” he deadpanned. “The one that proves that you killed Henry, not me.” 

Would this hold up in court? I mean I have an alibi, I don’t have a motive, kind of insane-

He realized that Ryder was waiting for him to continue, but Colt could barely take him seriously, considering how the stupid combination of a mix-and-match bathrobe and bright yellow shorts made him look like a frat bro who was going to try and get him to fall for updog. Which only happened once, and Ryder had lorded it over the crew like he won a fucking nobel prize.

“Yeah,” he hissed. “I’m gonna hold on to that.” He glanced at the semi-circle of goons around him. “Seems like it’s the only thing keeping me alive right now.”

Ryder made a face that confirmed his suspicions, and against his will, a pit opened up in his stomach. He thought of Dan and Jean-Claude, who had hopefully made it out without any issues; he thought of Jody, who was probably ripping her hair out over the script for the third act, and probably looking utterly adorable while doing it.

And, naturally, he thought of Dr. Ryland Grace. His little brother by five minutes, somewhere in Asia, who is saving the world and is definitely too busy to help him with whatever the fuck was going on. However, he did say that all the countries in the world were working on this thing with him. He probably could have some pull with someone important who could issue him a pardon.

Assuming, that is, that this wasn’t like a Bond movie and they weren’t going to kill him.

Because all things considered, getting taken out by Tom Ryder was probably the worst way he could go. I mean, for god’s sake, he can jump a boat through fire with his hands tied behind his back. If Colt Seavers is dying young, he’s dying in the most epic way possible.

Ryder sighed, sitting down next to him, folding over like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and paid taxes like normal people. “What went wrong?” he wondered aloud.

Murdering someone for reminding you that you don’t do your own stunts, probably, his brain offered, and his mouth almost spoke. Instead, he just hummed, trying to take stock of the situation.

“What went wrong?”

How did this guy not take himself out of the gene pool already? “Well,” Colt began, looking around at all of Ryder’s goons, “as I look at it, you know, you’re- you’re torturing me right outside your super-yacht like a Bond villain, DIPSHIT!” 

The men around them tightened their hold on their weapons, fingers resting on the triggers. Normally, it would’ve freaked Colt out, scared him straight, but he is severely jetlagged. He spent last night tweaking and seeing fucking unicorns all night and saw a dead fucking body, and spent the day shooting an entire scene that he was just going to be CGI’d out of in favor of the millionaire who apparently doesn’t want to work anymore and wants to make a career change to being a wannabe mob boss who dresses like a highlighter. 

And all he wants is just one fucking cup of coffee. Is that so fucking hard?

Also, Ryland isn’t here to tell him he’s being an idiot and going to get himself killed. 

“What went wrong?!” Colt yelled, staring down Ryder. “What went RIGHT!?”

Ryder blinked once, twice. Is he fucking high right now? Colt thought as the actor sighed. “You changed.”

Oh for the love-

He huffed, turning his head away as Ryder continued his half-baked monologue, born from the DVD logo bouncing around his head finally hitting a corner and allowing him to form a coherent thought. “Yeah,” Ryder continued. “We used to be like brothers, you and I.”

Colt nearly groaned. I brought my twin brother on set and you started yelling at him because of a mistake that I didn’t even make and you just entirely hallucinated, fully thinking he was me. Because I, Colt Seavers, wear sweatshirts that say Grover Cleveland Middle School Staff and wear glasses. But sure, Tom, we were like brothers. 

And instead of for once, maybe, shutting his mouth, Ryder continued as Colt shook his head, trying to keep himself awake. “Entered into the sacred bond of actor and stuntman,” he explained as Colt blinked out something that could probably be translated into morse code as “please just shoot me already, I can’t keep listening to him.”

“Oh God,” he groaned, unable to tell if the nausea was from the hits, the general surplus of his blood currently outside of his body, or just from Ryder’s inability to shut the hell up.

I’m taking back my DVD logo observation.

“How many movies have we done together?” He asked, and Colt genuinely couldn’t tell if he was serious or if it was rhetorical. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Colt responded. He did. It was fifteen. He’d seen none of them more than twice purely because Ryland insisted on watching all of them with him at least once. Or rather, Ryland watched them while Colt was in time out for saying something Ryland didn’t want to know about one of the actors he really liked.

“Yeah,” Ryder said with a smirk that Colt really wanted to punch off his stupid face. “Too many to count, that’s right. Because I put you in the contract, didn’t I?”

Goddamnit Gail, why did you make me agree to that?

“I put you, right there. I had the assistant, makeup and hair, trainer, and then boom,” Ryder listed, looking annoyingly pleased with himself like working for him hadn’t gotten him almost killed. “Ryder’s number one stuntman, Colt Seavers. That was me, I did that.”

Okay, let’s not kid ourselves. Gail did that. I’m not sure you can actually read a contract.

“I did that for you,” Ryder finished.

Ohhh, so I died. I’m in hell, and you’re Satan. Got it.

“What are you gonna do for me? Huh?”

Colt shrugged. “Die, I guess. Right? Die?” He looked around at all the goons, at all the guns. “Is that the plan?” Dressler nodded slightly and Colt felt his blood run cold. 

Ryland isn’t going to be a twin anymore.

“It’s nothing personal,” Ryder assured him.

“Alright, well, I’m taking it personally.”

“Yeah I can-”

“The torture-”

Ryder brushed him off, “It’s just business.”

“The drugging,” Colt continued, “the taser. I’m taking it personally.”

The actor stood up, walking away from him like he was some supervillain in a movie, which was ironic, because Colt was pretty sure Ryder had something in his contract about only playing the good guys to protect his ego. “Tom Ryder is a global brand,” he said, like Colt hadn’t seen his stupid face plastered on every bus stop in the city. “I literally move markets. If I go down, the freaking Dow goes down.” He whipped around on Colt, “If you break your back, I replace you like that,” he announced, snapping his fingers. “Boom.”

That pit in Colt’s stomach grew even deeper, but not because he was about to die. This was for something in his gut that he couldn’t explain. His mind drifted back to the accident, to the checks and rechecks and rechecks he, Dan, and the stunt team had signed off on because he’d promised Ryland he’d stop coming back from work in a cast when Jody told him he never actually watched him do a stunt.

“You know,” Ryder began, “if you’d just stuck to your job instead of trying to hog the spotlight, this wouldn’t have happened. I mean, Henry wouldn’t be on the scene-” Colt narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he continued monologuing- “his accident wouldn’t have happened, your accident…freaky little fall, because you just push my buttons, man,” Ryder yelled, his stomach churning as the dots in his mind started connecting.

“Wait a second, what?” He asked, his throat running dry.

Ryder sighed, turning around and looking at him as though he was less than an ant under his boot. “What?” He exhaled exasperatedly.

Colt’s brow furrowed. “What did you say about my accident?”

He scoffed. “Well, you know,” he said matter-of-factly when Colt did not in fact know whatsoever, “you pushed me over the edge. You literally pushed a button-” Colt raised an eyebrow and Ryder made a face, seemingly editing his story in real time, which Colt was surprised to see he had the mental capacity to do so- “I mean, you didn’t. I mean, I pushed the button. I had to crank it up a notch.”

He’s hooked up to more wires than he has ever even seen on a film set. All of them taped and stuck to needles all over his skin like he was some demented puppet. Colt looked around the room, sucking in a breath as he realized where he was and what had just happened. 

He’d fallen. He’d been wheeled into an ambulance. He’d been taken into surgery. 

He’d died, multiple times.

Colt tried to keep his panicked breathing under control, digging his nails into his palm as he spotted the room's only other occupant. Body wrapped in a patchwork quilt of varying degrees of quality, golden frames hanging precariously by his ear like one breath would have them clattering to the floor, and his head of golden hair resting on a balled-up black and red jacket. His jacket.

Ryland and Jody both look ten years older than they should when he sees them. There are dark circles under their eyes, worry lines embedded in their faces. They’ve gone through hell in these past four days. And not because of a freak accident.

Because of Tom fucking Ryder.

“That was you?” He asks, his voice more shaky than he’d like it to be as his fights with Jody and Ryland flash across his mind. Jody begging him to not shut her out, Ryland begging him to do something other than mope and be alone all the time.

“Yeah,” Ryder admits with a shrug. “Had to teach you a little lesson, didn’t I? Got a bit too big for your boots, didn’t you?” He asks in the most atrocious southern accent that almost makes Colt throw up on the spot. “Henry’s no different, you know. Acting like I don’t do my own stunts in front of all those people. That’s humiliating. And yeah, I’m gonna kick you into next week.”

All of the noise coming out of his mouth is drowned out by the ringing in Colt’s ears. He’s lost in a haze of his memories. Ryland running his hands through his hair, near tears after work and hiding from him for a moment before returning to the most fake positive bedside manner that Colt could see was killing him. Jody bringing him everything he needed, even when he didn’t ask, and still getting pushed away because he was terrified of her not liking the Colt Seavers he was turning into. They both ran themselves ragged and he treated them like shit.

And all because Tom fucking Ryder has the world’s most fragile ego.

“But then Gail, you know- you remember Gail-”

“I’ve known her for fifteen years,” Colt grumbled, his anger simmering, on the verge of becoming something white, hot, adrenaline-fueled, and actually might get him charged for murder. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right, because you’ve-”

“I introduced you two,” he interrupted.

Ryder rolled his eyes. “Yeah well she calls me up like, ‘this doesn’t look good. Bad for marketing and renting, and blah blah blah blah and murder. This plan was so simple. We were gonna put Henry’s body on ice so it doesn’t decompose. We could pull you out from whatever rock you crawled under.”

Colt blinked. “You mean my life?” He snapped, memories of fresh popcorn and movie nights at Ryland’s apartment flashing across his memory before he was sent off to wherever he was before he was on the boat, before he ended up in Asia. 

He was ignored, as expected. “You know, scan your face. Dressy here is gonna stick you on the murder video. Drug you, drive you and Henry’s body off the Sydney Harbour Bridge, in your car, and boom! You got murder-suicide. Cut. Check the gate. Move on. Beautiful.”

“I think we have different ideas of what simple is,” Colt deadpanned.

Ryder huffed. “You- you just didn’t stay down, did you? You just had to create a big scene, like Colt Seavers does.”

When the fuck have I ever done that you egotistical waste of carbon and oxygen. You need to carry a plant around to replenish all the fucking oxygen you waste on the daily because you can’t shut the everliving fuck up, Colt grumbled in his thoughts, parts of his inner monologue sounding suspiciously like his twin brother.

“But ya know, this could still work. Because we’ve got the murder, now we just need the suicide,” Ryder let out a dramatic huff. “Sad.”

Ignoring the gaping hole in his chest and the mind-numbing panic of Ryland having to deal with losing his twin while he’s trying to actively save the Sun, Colt rolled his eyes, pushing every ounce of training and character work he’d put into the cocky, stunt guy persona. “It’s plot heavy. We’re getting tangled in exposition. Lose the last part, the suicide. You lose the audience if there’s too much.”

“Colt,” Ryder says. “Where’s the phone?”

He opens his mouth, but he swears it’s Ryland’s voice coming out. “Tom, YOU NEED CARBS! YOUR BRAIN RUNS ON GLUCOSE! FOR SIMPLE, COGNITIVE FUNCTIONS! YOU NEED THEM!”

The actor completely ignores him, “Colt,” he says, a smile that makes Colt feel like he’s actually going to die. “You’re the fall guy.”

Holy fuck, he’s really going to kill me. 

I’m going to die. Because of Tom Fucking Ryder.

“Where’s the phone?” Ryder asked once again. “You can keep taking hits all night,” he offered. “But I know a few other people who can’t.”

Oh shit.

Dan.

Jody. Oh God, she’s with Gail, isn’t she?

And then an even worse, completely irrational thought.

Can he get to Ryland?

“There’s no phone,” he blurts. “Okay? That’s the twist. He shot it-” he glares at Dressler- “out of my hand. Up there,” he jerks his head towards Ryder’s house, “go check. You too, all of you. I’ll wait.”

Ryder laughed deliriously, looking at Dressler. “He shot it!”

Colt, in spite of himself, smirks at the man. “You didn’t know you did that?” He turned back to Ryder. “It’s crazy. I’ve been wanting to tell you this whole time.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“It was crazy, I was by the door frame. And he shoots it out of my hand!”

Ryder wiped at his eyes, sighing. “Oh God, what a relief.”

Colt nodded. “Yeah, so you can get rid of-”

“You were right about one thing though,” the actor interrupted. “There was only one thing keeping you alive.”

Ry, Jody, I’m so sorry.

“I really wish you could see what Jody’s gonna do with MetalStorm. It’s gonna be awesome, and honestly? It’s gonna be a banger.”

Any quip or snarky, macho, classic stunt guy response died in Colt’s throat as the goons lifted fuel cans that he hadn’t noticed before. He’d expected a gunshot to the head. Maybe having a cinderblock tied to his feet and being thrown into the water like he was the victim of some 1940s, The Godfather, mob violence. Waterboarding, maybe, would’ve been preferable. 

Burning alive was not on Colt Seavers’ list of preferred ways to die.

Obviously, Jody and Dan would find out about it. Assuming Ryder didn’t get to them first. But neither of them had any way of getting into contact with Ryland, considering Colt could barely do it on a good day.

Would they even tell him? 

If that fight was any indication, they were getting close to sending those three astronauts up on a one way trip to save the Sun. Ryland was probably being pressured even harder than before to make sure that all three of them survived to get there, and could get their findings back.

“And they don’t get to come back?”

Ryland’s breath was shaky over the phone. “There won’t be enough fuel. It’s- it’s a suicide mission, Colt. They’re going to die up there.”

They needed his brother focused, completely focused. Remove any distractions that could jeopardize his productivity. And my death would be a pretty big distraction. The Hail Mary launches in three days. Assuming all goes well, it will be three days before Ryland hears that he’s no longer a twin.

For Colt, at least, those three days would probably be hell on Earth.

He’d be damned if he let Ryland go through that alone.

His leg bounced anxiously as he felt the cold gasoline run down his back, soaking through his shirt. Colt blinked back the pressure behind his eyes, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, as he watched Ryder lazily step back onto his yacht. “Wish you didn’t break that bond, bro,” he says casually, not even bothering to look his stuntman in the eyes. “Wish you didn’t break that bond.”

Dressler grunts, heaving another gas canister up from the floor and dumping it out over his shoulders. “All right stuntman,” he says, voice rough and coarse, “time for a drink, mate.”

Colt swallows hard as his body tenses with the realization that this isn’t going to end well for him, and he decides there’s nothing left for him to lose. So he might as well do what he can to minimize the time his brother has to be an only child.

A pained scream rips itself from his throat as the gasoline seeps into every gash, cut, and fresh open wound as his vision blurs again. “HELP!” He yelled, some of the gasoline splashing into his mouth. “HELP, HELP ME!” 

The taste of gasoline is harsh, oily, and Colt can’t decide if he’s going to throw it up or if his taste buds are just going to melt away as Dressler pours it down his throat. He’s going to die here. He is going to die and Tom Ryder is going to get away with murder and then he’s going to go after Dan, after Jody, after Ryland.

He almost accepted his fate quietly as Dressler clicked his lighter, the flame dancing in his eyes. Just like he almost accepted his fate eight times on the operating table at St. Mary’s Grace Hospital after an accident caused not by his own negligence, but by the malice of one fucking human embodiment of a shitstain known as fucking Tom Ryder. But he’d been brought back every time.

Colt didn’t understand why at the time, but his cognitive functions had been greatly impaired by the cocktail of painkillers and anesthetics flooding his body. However, when he woke up and saw his brother’s face light up, nearly sobbing with relief, it clicked. Dr. Ryland Grace had refused to let his twin brother die on him. Dr. Ryland Grace, who was important enough to be invited to UNESCO conferences, who went back to teach middle school after getting kicked out of academia, who was currently in some country in Asia, studying and breeding the little organisms that were eating the Sun to fuel a hail mary suicide mission to a distant star to give Earth a fighting chance. That insanely important Dr. Grace, who thought that his twin brother’s life was so important that he told the doctors to resuscitate him eight separate times.

Ryland can’t be an only child.

He smirked at Dressler, finally spitting the gasoline out of his mouth and straight into the lighter. The goons scattered, sprinting away from the flames as Colt jumped up, still attached to the chair, and sprinted towards a small speedboat haphazardly tied to the dock. He reached back, facing backwards, and inhaling as the pieces of the chair clattered to the ground.

I can do this. It’s like riding a bike. I’m a scrappy kid on the set of Miami Vice and I’m jumping a boat through a ring of fire with my hands tied behind my back. 

Colt closed his eyes as he turned the boat around, somehow miraculously dodging the spray of bullets coming from Dressler and the other goons on their own boat. His heart lurching as he launched into the air, the flames shooting up into the air in a wall of fire.

I am such a fucking badass.

He stumbled a bit as the boat slammed back onto the water, looking around as he searched for a group of boats, cutting the engine and tucking himself behind a sailboat as he worked to untie his hands on the exposed metal of the seatbelts, ducking out of view as Dressler’s boat floated by. 

Finally freeing his hands, he grabbed his phone–a burner, just in case something went down, which, it did. He’d programmed a few contacts into it: Dan, Jody, Ryland.

His finger hovered over his brother’s name, itching to call him. To finally tell him the truth about his accident. To finally ease the worry of another equipment failure happening to him again, because it wasn’t an accident. 

But Ryland was in Asia. And if he didn’t know where he was, it was probably going to take Ryder longer to find him. But if Gail was with Jody…

“Colt? What’s going on?” Jody’s panicked voice came through as Colt breathed a sigh of relief.

He smiled, “What’d you sing?”

“What?!”

“At karaoke,” he reminded her. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jody said, her breathing quick, and she sounded like she was pacing in circles. “Listen. Everyone’s saying you killed Henry. What’s happening?”

Colt exhaled sharply. Gail. “Yeah, that’s not true.” His stomach twisted violently as he thought of Ryder getting back on set tomorrow. Of him sending Dressler after Dan and Jody just for being associated with him. And it will be his fucking fault. “You’re gonna hear a lot of things that aren’t true.” He took a deep breath.

Ryland pushed his hands through his hair. “You broke up with Jody?!” He yelled, staring at Colt with exasperation in his eyes.

Colt narrowed his eyes, looking away from his brother’s accusatory glare. His hair was grown out, falling over his eyes and his untrimmed beard was starting to get itchy and hot. “Look at me, Ry,” he choked out, gesturing to himself and the various rehab equipment that was scattered across Ryland’s living room. “I can barely walk, much less do anything remotely close to stunt work ever again. I’m not the man she fell in love with and it’s not fair to her to-”

"You dumbass," Ryland groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, Colt," he scoffed. "I know you jumped off buildings for a living and I thought that was stupid. But this? This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done in your life. You broke up with the only girl that you have deemed worthy of the title of ‘The Future Mrs. Seavers’ because you feel sorry for yourself."

"There will be others-"

Ryland shook his head. "No, Colt, there won't be. Because I've seen you with every girlfriend you've had before Jody and you have done things for her that you have never done for any other girl. First off,” he began, holding up a finger, “your last six girlfriends only dated you because you look like Tom Ryder and I watched it destroy your confidence. You broke up with one of them because she said she thought Tom Ryder was hot. Which, shockingly, is somehow an improvement from that time you stayed with that one girl who cheated on you five times, Colt!”

 Colt shrugged, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his head on top of them as Ryland continued ranting. “Jody is the first girl that you genuinely look at like she hung the stars, Colt. The first girl that I have genuinely seen you be in love with. The only girl you’ve been serious about since your high school girlfriend, what’s-her-face, who broke up with you because you weren’t going to college. Jody is the only girl that you’ve ever considered going further with because I saw you looking at engagement rings-”

“How did you-”

Ryland held up his hand. “So why in God's name would you break up with her after she's been standing by your side through this by choice. How is someone I share my DNA with that dumb?"

“I just wanted to say that,” Colt began, practically feeling Ryland looking over his shoulder expectantly. “when I first got here, when you asked how I was doing and I gave you the thumbs up, and then you were like ‘that’s stunt guy bullshit’ and you’re right. It’s a total cliché.” He exhaled, bracing himself for this next part as he maneuvered the boat to keep himself out of Dressler’s sight line. “But, you know, there’s a reason you don’t see the thumbs-down stunt guy, you know? It’s kind of part of our training, right? You get hit by a car, you get thrown out of a window, you get set on fire, you give the thumbs-up.”

He hears Jody’s breath hitch on the other end, and he blinks back the tears threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes. “But after my accident,” he continued, “which turns out, was not an accident, by the way, I- I wasn’t okay. And not because I broke my back, but because I just felt like a huge-” the next word seemed lodged in his throat, but he took a breath, forcing it out- “failure.”

Jody pauses, and part of Colt wonders if she’s still there, but he’s too far into baring his soul, into doing what he should’ve done, what Ryland told him to do, eighteen months ago. “And I realized that, I’m- I’m not invincible. Huge shocker. And thought that maybe I wasn’t so special or something so I,” he choked out, “I figured that the thumbs-down version of me wasn’t what you got into it for so I just disappeared.”

“But you know, I didn’t just disappear on you, I uh- I disappeared on myself too.” He thinks of Ryland, dragging him to work just for him to sulk in the back of his classroom because he didn’t want to Colt to be alone at home with his thoughts. Which, knowing where his head was, probably saved his life. “Anyways, I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved more than that. I’m sorry.”

“I just wanted you to be honest,” Jody whispers, and it feels like a choir of angels singing to Colt from the heavens above. 

He nodded, smiling. “Yeah, well, honestly, it all hurts.” He looks over, seeing a light flashing in the distance. Dressler. “Getting hit by a car hurts. Getting thrown out of a window hurts.” Colt grinned, letting out a snort. “Getting set on fire really hurts. But uh,” he swallows, the words that have been trapped in his throat for eighteen months finally bubbling to the tip of his tongue, “none of it ever hurt as much as not being with you.”

Jody is silent for a moment, and Colt braces himself for the sting, but instead she asks, “Where are you?”

Colt blinked a few times, coming down off the high of confessing his feelings for the love of his life and not immediately getting shot down. “Is that from a movie or did I just make that up?” He asked with a breathy laugh, grinning at himself. “It’s pretty good. You can use that if you want.” 

He hears Dressler shout from behind him, and the bullets start spraying. Colt ducked down behind the chair as he hears Jody’s breathing becoming more erratic. “For what it’s worth,” he shouted over the gunfire, “I’m still in love with you. And I don’t think you should give up on that happy ending.”

“Colt.”

“I gotta go.”

“Colt!”

He tapped the end call button, slipping the burner phone into the pocket of his leather jacket as he ducked down, scanning the harbour for something, anything, that could let him control how he goes out on his own terms. His eyes found a stray dock, covered in oil tanks that would go up in a blaze of glory if the boat slammed into it. 

Perfect.

The flames pouring from the back of the boat were starting to lick at Colt’s heels as he weaved through buoys and pylons, leading Dressler straight for the tankers. He took a deep breath, moving to stand on the wheel and the chair.

And everything went up in flames.

An explosion occurred near the opera house in Sydney Harbour, believed to be caused by a boat colliding with numerous oil tankers. Eyewitness statements claim a blond man was present at the scene of the crash, with the only thing recovered being a Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket.

American Stuntman Colt Seavers is dead.

Sike.

Except for the jacket thing, though. Colt was pretty pissed about that.

His adrenaline-numbed mind took over as he ran, his body screaming at him to stop. Frankly, with how much of his blood was outside of his body, soaked into his clothes, it was a miracle he hadn’t collapsed on the sidewalk to bleed out and die. But Colt had way bigger fish to fry.

At some point, he’d snuck back into the MetalStorm set, not quite sure how he’d made it back there considering how he was clinging to consciousness like a koala on a tree. He slowly crept into the Stunt Crew’s trailer, snatching his phone back and powering it back on only to be faced with a number that Colt had to believe was a glitch.

382 missed calls from Ryland Grace.

127 voicemails from Ryland Grace.

Colt blinked. Damn, Ry. I leave for three hours.

He tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans, slipping out of the trailer and across the darkened beach, feet padding against the sand. Something uncomfortable gnawed at the back of his mind, his phone weighing heavy in his pocket. 

Nearly 400 calls in 3 hours. That’s like…two calls every minute. Jesus, Ry. You dying or something?

Colt froze.

Did Ryder fucking find my brother?

He let out a breathy, nervous laugh. That’s ridiculous. He’s somewhere in Asia, even I don’t know where he is. He’s on some classified government project, there is no way in hell Ryder could get to him.

But what if-

No. No. Ryland is fine. He probably- Colt let out a shaky breath, sneaking into the storage unit where all the costumes were being held, and tucking himself under a few alien heads. He didn’t have a good explanation for why Ryland would have called him that many times.

He pressed his phone to his ear, crossing his fingers as he waited for his brother’s voice to come through the other line.

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Well, fuck.

Colt dragged his hand down his face as his legs bounced restlessly. He opened his call log, scrolling past all 127 voicemails, just to hover his finger over the first message, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach as Ryland’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, Colt, it’s me Ryland,” Colt smiled to himself, but tried to judge the tone of his twin brother’s voice. He didn’t sound nervous. “Look, I- I’m sorry about what I said in our fight earlier-”

Ryland’s voice, sharp and cold, flashes through his mind. “Listen, Colt, I have a job. So excuse me for not having time to help you flirt with a girl you ghosted eighteen months ago.”

Colt narrowed his eyes, “This is not about Jody,” he protested. “And for your information, I do have a job-”

“Crashing cars and getting set on fire is not a real job, Colt.”

He shuddered as the message continued to play. “I’m under a lot of pressure, and I handled it really badly. I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” Ryland, or rather past-Ryland, rambled, “but I really need you to answer the phone in the next three hours. It’s really important. Okay? Talk to you soon.”

Colt blinked, scrolling and tapping on the second message.

“Hey Colt, it’s me again,” Ryland started again, his breathing a bit quicker and Colt swore he could hear the nervous clicking of a pen. “Again, totally get it if you’re ignoring me but uh- I need you to call me back in the next-” there was a rustling as Colt imagined him turning to look at something else, wherever he was. “I need you to call me back in the next- the next two hours and fifty minutes, it’s really important, alright? Talk soon.”

He tapped on the third message.

Ryland breathed hard as he started it again, “Yeah, it’s me, Colt. I’ve called you like thirty times and I-” he let out a shaky breath as the pit in Colt’s stomach widened- “If this is to get back at me for what I said during our fight I- I-” Ryland’s delirious laugh echoed in his twin brother’s head like gun shots- “You have picked a really bad time to do this. I really- I really need you to pick up or call me back in the next- oh fuck- in the next two hours and forty-three minutes. It’s uh- it’s really super important, so just uh- just please call me back Colt, okay?”

He exhaled hard, the phone dangling in his hand, about to slide into one of the fake alien heads beneath him. Why is he counting down? Colt wondered, shaking his head as he returned to the call screen, tapping on Ryland’s contact.

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Colt’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone, his free hand covering his mouth. This isn’t funny, Ry. Pick up the phone.

He returned to the list of voicemails, tapping the next one. And the one after that. And after that one. And again after that one. Each one involves both Ryland asking him to call back and then a countdown. One that was going down a few minutes at a time. Colt’s blood ran cold.

The seventh one played. “Colt, this really isn’t funny,” Ryland huffs, but there’s something else- a sniffle? “I really, really, need you to pick up the phone or call me back in the next two hours and- oh god- in the next two hours and twenty-six minutes. And I- oh my god. Colt I really need you to do this for me,” and his voice breaks. “Please.”

Colt continues down the line, each one of them sending another jolt of dread that pooled with the nausea in his stomach. Each one of them playing on a permanent loop inside of his brain, basically forcing him on autopilot.

He snuck out in one of those ridiculous alien costumes and was honestly impressed, and maybe a bit of something else, that Jody was able to fight him off that easily, even if his movement was impaired by the bulky, 3D printed panels of the suit. He wanted to compliment her but his mind was so far off in another direction that he could barely focus while they laid out the plan to get Ryder to confess and let Colt clear his name.

Voicemail number 12 replayed in his mind. “Pick up the phone, Colt, I’m serious, I-” Ryland gasped. “I’m not kidding, Colt, this is really really really important. I really need you to call me back in the next, in the next two hours and- oh god it really is. In the next two hours and nine minutes. I’m serious Colt, please please please pick up.”

And as he got in the car with Ryder, his focus was still pulled, even as he swerved and drifted through ambush alley and raced towards the jump spot, repeating his name over and over again as Ryder finally began to break down and confess. But even as Jody excitedly radioed that they had the confession, his mind was still elsewhere.

Number 17. “Please pick up please please please please, Colt, please. There’s so much going on and I- I need you to pick up the phone, please. Colt. It’s really important just- I’ve got, oh god I’m gonna be sick.” Ryland exhaled shakily. “I need you to call me back in the next hour and fifty-eight minutes, Colt. Please.”

As soon as they had the recording and everything was secured, Colt tapped his brother’s contact again, his heart racing as it rang.

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Goddamnit,” Colt hissed. “This isn’t fucking funny, Ryland. You’re scaring the shit out of me, man.”

He barely remembers the celebratory drinks he, Dan, and Jody had gone out for. Or rather the celebratory drinks that Dan and Jody had. Colt didn’t want to miss Ryland’s call and felt it was his responsibility to make sure that Jody wasn’t getting too carried away with her spicy margaritas.

Number 39. “Colton Kenneth Seavers-Grace, I swear to God-” Ryland laughed manically, cursing under his breath. “I swear to God if you don’t pick up the phone Colt, I am going to be in some deep shit. So please, please, please, I need you to pick up the phone or call me back- oh fuck it. I’m running out of time, Colt. I need you to call me back in the next hour and thirty-one minutes or they’re going to-” Ryland’s breath caught in his throat as Colt heard him slam something against a wall or a table just before the message cut off.

He tapped Ryland’s contact again as Dan and Jody tried to drag him up for a redo of karaoke night, his stomach churning as his body threatened to eject the minimal food he’d eaten since he’d landed in Australia.

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

When they got to the airport, Ryland hadn’t answered the phone in two days. Colt Seavers was absolutely losing his mind.

Number 64. “Colt, I-” Ryland sighed. “I swear to God, if you are in the hospital again because of a stunt when I told you that you should- you know what, I don’t have time to get into that. Colt. Pick. Up. The. Phone. Please. I’m running out of time, Colt. I need you to call me back. I’ve got- I’ve got an hour and- an hour and twenty-eight minutes, and I need you to call me back, Colt.”

He’s numb as he hands his bag to the ticket agent, barely thinking as Jody rests a hand on his arm, slowly guiding him to passport control. His fingers are even out of his control now: tapping on Ryland’s contact, waiting for the ringing to stop and yet again-

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Jody rested her head against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his like she was a koala and he was her branch, but in reality, it was the other way around. Her gentle, repetitive circles traced on his arm were probably the only things keeping him sane and grounded and keeping his head from literally floating up into the clouds with everything swirling around inside his brain.

Dan also kept a steady hand on his shoulder as Colt continued staring at his phone blankly, pressing Ryland’s contact over and over and over again.

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please leave a message-”

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now. Please-”

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable right now-”

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace. I’m currently unavailable-

“Hello. This is Ryland Grace-

“Hello-”

Colt squeezed his eyes shut as Dan and Jody both had to let go to talk to the customs agent separately. Like the physical contact being taken away was like weights being cast off a hot air balloon, leaving Colt and his spinning head to float up and away into space. He stumbled through the conversation about declarations with a few shrugs and mostly mumblings he’s shocked were even coherent. He’s even more shocked that he cleared the border without being forced into a drug test.

Number 68. “Hello, Colt. At this point, I’m assuming you’re probably dead. Which is insane to think about because-” Ryland sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, sniffling quietly. “Because you’re Colt. You’re my big brother. You’ve gotten hit so many times and you take it on the chin every time. You do it for a living, even. You fell twelve stories, broke your spine, and still got up. So please just- just pick up the phone, Colt. Prove my hypothesis wrong. I’ve got- oh god- I’ve got an hour and sixteen minutes left you- you have to call me back Colt. You have to call me back because you’re not dead.”

He wasn’t dead. He was not dead and he was not a murderer and he couldn’t wait to tell his twin brother all about it. I can’t call you back if you don’t answer, Colt thinks. Pick up the goddamn phone, Ryland.

Jody’s hand doesn’t leave his, through the airport, waiting at their gate, down the jetway, and despite his protests, as Colt takes his spot in the middle seat between Dan and Jody. His arms rested on either of the armrests, Jody’s fingers still interlaced through his, Dan’s hand resting on his shoulder as Colt shakily turned his phone into airplane mode. Praying to whatever governing body of the universe there was that there would be another missed call, and that it would be from Ryland.

Number 79. Ryland’s sobbing before he even speaks. “Colt I- I- Oh God Colt,” he tries to muffle his next sob but the sound alone turns Colt’s brain into nothing more than TV static and panic. “Colt, they’re gonna- they wanna- she wants to- oh God. Just- please Colt please pick up the phone before they- before they- I need-” Ryland’s trying to breath but it’s not helping him, and Colt’s heart is aching. “I’m running out of time, Colt, I’ve got- I’ve got- oh Jesus Christ- I’ve got an hour and three minutes Colt. Please please please please pick up the phone.”

Jody and Dan had both fallen asleep, both of them resting their heads on Colt’s shoulders. Normally, he’d be annoyed, shrug them–at least Dan–off and continue doing whatever he was doing. Except that he wasn’t doing anything. He was staring at the screen on the back of the chair in front of him, watching the flight map with a white-knuckle grip.

Every attempt at sleeping was met with the same end, some horrible vision of his brother in a nightmare scenario, screaming for him to help him, to come save him. But Colt’s trapped in a glass box, unable to escape, unable to say anything as he watches his twin brother die.

Please God please let me still be a twin.

The rest of the flight goes in a haze of sleep deprivation, anxiety, and slight restlessness as Colt tries to fidget without disturbing Dan or Jody. By the time they step out and onto the jetway back in LA, he’s holding Jody’s hand tightly like she’ll disappear if he lets go and feels (and probably looks) like a zombie.

“Hey Colt,” Dan says, clapping a hand on his back to wake him up. Then quieter as he notices the dark circles under the stuntman’s eyes. “You alright, buddy?”

Number 101. “Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, Colt,” Ryland sobs, the desperation in his voice clawing at his twin brother’s skin. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, Colt please just-” his voice breaks as he chokes on a sob- “just answer the phone Colt, I need you right now, please. I- I’m almost- I’m almost out time and they’re- she’s- Stratt’s gonna- oh God Colt I’ve got- holy shit- I’ve got- I’ve got-” he’s choking back another sob and Colt’s dreading the time left on the countdown. “I’ve got thirty-one minutes, Colt, I need- I need you to pick up- I need you to call me back, Colt, please.”

“Coffee,” he murmured, sounding just about as half-dead as he looked. 

Dan and Jody exchanged a glance and nodded, slowly guiding him towards the nearest coffee shop. He stumbled forward as Jody steadied him, Dan leaving them to order first. As he and Jody approached the barista, he muttered something incoherent that Jody translated to mean a large black coffee.

“He’s pretty jetlagged and sleep deprived,” she offered with a look as the barista looked over at him. Taking stock of the cuts and bruises littering Colt’s face, and the jagged shape of his broken nose.

“Yeah,” the barista said, raising an eyebrow. “He seems like he needs it.”

She leaves Colt by the counter, waiting for his drink. His hand lingers as she walks away, and his eyes are wide with fear that makes Jody’s stomach do flips. “I’ll be right with Dan, love,” she whispered, finally tugging her fingers from the stuntman’s grasp. There’s a hurt in his eyes that disappears as he squeezes them shut, nervously running his hands through his tousled blond hair.

Jody made her way over to stand next to the stunt coordinator, looking over her shoulder to see Colt holding his phone to his ear, nervously tapping his foot, and-

Is that a tear?

Is Colt Seavers crying?

She shudders, turning to Dan to debrief the situation as he nudges her, pointing towards the small TV tucked in the corner of the room. The same one that every patron and every employee of that coffee shop was staring at with a focus that rendered the entire world silent.

Live from the Baikonur Cosmodrome in Kazakhstan. The Launch of Project: Hail Mary.

“Isn’t that-” Dan asks as Jody nods, hand coming up to cover her mouth as the engines on the spacecraft ignite. “Maybe he’s just been busy?” He offers, watching Colt sluggishly walk over towards them, not having noticed the screen yet.

“God, I hope so,” she whispered as Colt’s hand slipped back into hers. 

Colt’s grip tightened on her hand as he looks up, the words becoming clearer and clearer as he reads them over and over again. It’s launching, Colt thinks, trying to push the thrumming unease at the back of his mind out. That’s why he isn’t answering. The launch has him busy. As soon as it’s out of the atmosphere, he’ll call me back. He has to. Ryland has to call me back.

Number 121. “COLT. COLT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PICK UP,” Ryland screams through sobs. “Colt, Colt, they’re going to- I’m going to- You can’t let them do this, Colt, please. I- please, Colt, I’m almost out of time. I need you. I need you to answer Colt, I need you to- I need you to pick up the phone. I need you to call me back, please, you have to. I’m- oh God, Colt, I only have ten minutes left, please pick up. Please, please, please, Colt, come on,” he begs, sniffling and crying. “Colt I- I love you, just please pick up the phone so you don’t- so I don’t- Oh God, Colt please just pick up.”

The screen shifts, showing overhead footage of a destroyed building side by side as the camera on the launch begins to shake. Colt narrowed his eyes, sucking in a breath as every hair on his body stood on end with anticipation. His phone weighed heavy in his pocket, and he’s willing it to ring just once. For the name Ryland Grace to flash across the screen. Just once. Please.

“We have other news from Baikonur,” the newscaster announced as Colt held his breath, squeezing Jody’s hand so hard he would’ve been worried he might break it if this were any other situation. “Three days ago-”

Ryland hasn’t answered the phone in three days.

“-a massive accident involving the astrophage fuel aboard the Hail Mary spacecraft-”

Ryland was the one working with the astrophage.

“-caused the destruction of multiple buildings on the compound, as well as numerous injuries and unconfirmed deaths. However-”

No. Please. Please. Please. God. No.

Colt froze, staring up at the screen like it was either going to save his life or shoot him in the end. He figured that would be kinder than whatever was going to happen next.

“There have been two confirmed deaths,” the newscaster continues as Colt drops his coffee. The hot liquid burning against the skin of his hands and soaking into his shoes, unable to melt him from his position. No. No. Please not him.

The cup clatters around, rolling as a few people tear their eyes away from the screen to glance at him, faces twisting as they look at the stuntman who looks so beat to shit that he might as well have just dug himself out of his own grave, looking up at the news broadcast like it’s going to kill him.

“Astronaut Annie Shapiro, the backup scientist for the Project: Hail Mary mission,” the newscaster continues. Her picture flashes up on the screen: she’s young, about his and Ryland’s age. Her brown hair is messy, and she’s smiling brightly in the portrait, but Colt can’t focus on that. His heart is threatening to escape from his throat along with all of the contents of his stomach. His body feels like he’s back up on that rig, about to free-fall twelve stories.

“And American molecular biologist-

No. No. No please. This is a dream. This is a nightmare. He’s going to wake up. He’s still on the plane, squished between Dan and Jody. He’s going to wake up. They are going to land. Colt is going to take an Uber to San Francisco and he is going to knock on his brother’s door and Ryland is going to open it. No. No. No. Nononononononononononononononononononono. Please. Please. Please, Ry, don’t do this to me. Please. Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

Another photo appears on the screen, and it’s Colt’s face, staring back at him.

Except Colt Seavers doesn’t wear glasses. And he’s never been to Kazakhstan. And he doesn’t have a doctorate in molecular biology. And Ryland hasn’t answered the phone in three days.

“-Dr. Ryland Grace-”

He doesn’t hear the rest of it because his head feels like it’s at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, and nothing seems real. He thinks Jody says something, but he can’t feel her hand holding his anymore. 

Colt sucks in the air as his head breaks through the surface, hand pushing his hair out of his face as his legs kick to keep him treading water. The Sun is warm, shining down on the pool, making the water shimmer and sparkle. He looks up at the diving board with a grin. Ryland is there, hand already covering his nose, his goggles over his eyes, and making his sandy blond hair stick up in weird directions. 

“Come on!” He shouts at his twin. “The water’s fine!”

“I’m scared, Colt!” Ryland shouts back, taking a few steps from the edge.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t be such a baby, Ry.”

“But what if-”

“If you suddenly forget how to swim,” Colt says with an edge of sarcasm, rolling his eyes as Ryland takes a nervous step forward. “I promise, I’ll save you and bring you back to the shallow end, okay?”

Ryland smiles a bit before giving his twin brother a thumbs-up. “Okay.”

Colt takes a step back.

“This came in the mail for you,” Colt announced, sliding an envelope across the kitchen table to Ryland. His elbows rested on the table as he stared at the letter wordlessly, not moving to take it. Colt blinked, “Do you wanna wait for Mom and Dad to get home or-”

“My entire future is inside that envelope,” Ryland whispers, staring at it in horror. “If I don’t get into the program, then I’m screwed. I’ll have to do my undergrad somewhere else with professors who haven’t been relevant in academia for years. And then I won't have the same leg up in grad school, and god forbid how behind I’ll be in my PhD program and-”

Colt walks over to his brother, placing his hands on his shoulders and kneeling down. “Come back to me, Ry. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Colt-”

“You are the valedictorian of our class, Ryland. If they’re going to accept anyone, it’ll be you,” he reassured him, thumb tracing circles on his shoulder. “You need to stop that spiral, just breathe.”

Ryland takes a shaky inhale in unison with his twin. “But what if I didn’t get in?”

Colt smirks. “But what if you did?”

Ryland turned to look at the envelope, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He blinked at it a few times as Colt’s gaze followed his. “Should we wait for Mom and Dad?” He asked quietly.

His brother shook his head, reaching out for the envelope and tearing it open, eyes flicking over the paper in his hands. Colt found himself holding his breath as he studied Ryland’s expression, watching for any signs of what the letter said. Ryland blinked slowly, setting the paper down on the table as he looked back at his twin.

“I got in.”

“Holy shit, Ryland!” Colt shouted, a stray tear escaping from his eyes without permission as he lunged forward, wrapping his brother in a desperate hug. “See?! I told you, they’d be stupid not to take you.”

Ryland grinned, holding Colt tightly like he was never going to let go. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For being my brother.”

He’s hyperventilating, and Dan and Jody are trying to say something, but he can’t hear them. 

Ryland’s pacing back and forth and back and forth and-

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep doing that,” Colt scoffed as Ryland turned to face him, his hands resting in his hair. He looked a little like a mad scientist, which made sense; he already had the scientist part down. 

“Colt, this is the biggest moment of my career, I-”

“And you know your thesis,” Colt assured him. “You can explain it, you can defend it. You’ve done it hundreds of times. Hell, Ry,” he shook his brother by the shoulders a few times. “I know your thesis. And if I am capable of following all that-” he waved his hand- “sciency stuff, with the amount of concussions I’ve had-”

“Please don’t remind me,” Ryland groaned into his hands.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

He took a step back as the door opened, revealing four other people with stern expressions, aside from the one staring in the doorway. Colt took a step back as Ryland adjusted his blazer. “Mr. Seavers-Grace?” The man asked, and Colt, pointlessly, gestured to Ryland like it wasn’t obvious that he was not in fact there to defend his thesis.

It would be a power move, though, right? To defend a groundbreaking doctoral thesis in ripped jeans, an old t-shirt, and a worn, leather Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket. But Ryland had not opted for that, instead for a smart set of slacks and a blazer, even opting out of his converse that Colt was convinced were barely clinging to life.

Ryland nodded, looking back at Colt, who smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re gonna nail it.”

He smiled slightly, returning with his own thumbs up as he followed the man into the room. Colt’s heart dropped into his stomach as the door closed and he paced back and forth, restlessly drumming his fingers against his thighs as he waited for what felt like days, but in reality was probably only three hours until Ryland slipped out, closing the door behind him.

“How’d it go?”

“I-” Ryland breathed, “I have to wait for the final decision but-”

The door opened behind them, the committee all stood in the doorway, soft smiles across each of their faces. Ryland subconsciously reached for his brother’s hand, gripping it tightly as he studied each committee member's face, sucking in a breath.

“After our deliberation,” one of them began, and Colt realized even he was holding his breath. “We…would like to extend our congratulations, Doctor Grace.”

Ryland dropped his hand, running his hands through his hair. “Oh my god,” he whispered in disbelief, turning back to Colt who grinned at him with a double thumbs-up.

He feels Jody’s hand on his back first.

“I found her!” Colt sang, practically dancing through the kitchen, bowl of popcorn in hand.

Ryland turned his head, looking over his shoulder at his brother. “Found who?”

“The future Mrs. Seavers,” Colt announced, grabbing a packet of Skittles from the cabinet and plopping down next to his brother on the couch as Ryland clicked through the Netflix catalogue.

“Tom Ryder is banned for the next month, by the way,” Colt announced through a handful of popcorn as Ryland hovered over a movie where Ryder’s face was staring back at them.

He clicked off it for a moment, setting the remote down and turning to face Colt, who was cradling the bowl to his chest. “So, the future Mrs. Seavers?” Ryland asked, raising an eyebrow at his twin, who jumped up excitedly.

“Okay, okay,” Colt began, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Her name is Jody, she’s a camera operator on this new movie I’m working on. She’s English, she’s super nice, she’s super funny, she hates Tom Ryder almost as much as me.” He sighed in a way Ryland knew all too well from his students, falling back onto the couch with a soft thud. “I’m gonna marry her, Ryland.”

Ryland smiled, watching his brother’s dreamy expression. “Well then, I assume I’ll be invited to the wedding.”

“You kidding?” Colt scoffed, batting at his brother’s arm. “You’re the best man, dude. Nobody is gonna take that job from you.”

He felt Dan’s hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him from falling.

Colt smiled as Ryland placed his hand on his shoulders. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

“Are you kidding me?” Ryland scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re my twin brother, I could never forget you, Colt.”

He took his hands out of the pockets of his Miami Vice Stunt Team jacket, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine then, Ry.” One hand moved back to rest on Ryland’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Go save the world, little bro. I’ll be here when you get back.”

A scream rips itself from his throat as the floodgates open, tears streaming down his face, his cheeks burning. The entire airport seems to stop, every eye focusing on Colt as he threads his hands through his hair, screaming. “NO!” 

Colt stared at the newscast that had just shot him in the heart.

Actually, being shot in the heart would probably hurt less.

Number 127. Ryland is sobbing uncontrollably. “Colt,” he whispered. “I’m out of time, Colt, and I-” he sniffles. “I need you to pick up but- but if you can’t. If you can’t then just remember- Colt just remember that I love you. That I’m so happy you’re my brother. And say hi to Jody for me and-” another sob rips itself from Ryland’s throat. “I love you, big brother.”

“NO! No, no, no,” Colt sobbed, slowly crumpling to the ground as Dan moved to shield him from the coffee shop patrons who were now looking between the photo of the dead scientists and the man folding in on himself in a blubbering mess, eyes going wide with horror at the realization unfolding in front of them.

“Ryland,” he whimpered as Jody slowly lowered herself to the ground to sit beside him. “Ryland’s dead, Jody. My brother-” his breath catches in his throat. Ryland’s face flashes across the backs of his eyelids as he holds his head to his knees. “My brother’s dead, Jody. My baby brother’s dead. What do I-” he looked at her, and Jody felt her heart break at the sight of the red veins shooting across the whites of his eyes. “What do I do?”

She inhaled softly, opening up her arms. Colt darted forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his tear-stained face in her shoulder. She rested her hands on his back, slowly tracing the line of his spine as he sobbed, her shirt dampening from his tears. She looked up to Dan, who slowly lowered himself to sit beside them, resting a hand on Colt’s shoulder as he shook with another sob.

“Colt,” he said softly.

“I told him- I told him I’d be there when he got back and-” Colt sputtered, sniffling as he wiped his nose on the fabric of Jody’s sweatshirt. “And now he’s never coming back and I- oh God. Oh God, I’m not a twin anymore.”

Jody squeezed him tighter, resting her chin on top of his head. “Colt, sweetheart-”

“It should’ve been me, Jody,” Colt sniffled. “It should’ve- I’m the guy who does stupid dumb shit for a living and I- Why’d he have to die, Jody?”

She looked over at Dan, and back at the broken man in her arms. “I don’t know,” she whispered as Colt continued to sob even harder, his entire body shaking in her arms.

Colt Seavers hadn’t been a twin in three days.

His previous record had been five minutes. The five minutes before Ryland was born.

He would do anything to get those five minutes back. To get his brother back.

To just have a chance to say goodbye.

He heaved another sob, feeling Dan’s arms also wrap around him, shielding him from the people who had gathered around him. He heard the murmurs of condolences and apologies, but all of them were background noise. Like the song of birds over breakfast at their parent’s house. The sound of the waves as he, Ryland, and Jody sat in the back of his pickup truck, watching the sunset.

Back when everything was okay. Back when he was a twin.

Back when he was the oldest, but not the only child.

Back before Colt’s little brother by five minutes, Dr. Ryland Sebastian Seavers-Grace, was killed by an explosion of astrophage in Kazakhstan. Back before Ryland left with the government to save the Sun. Back when he believed that his twin brother was going to come home.

Back when the longest he’d gone without a twin was the five minutes before his twin was born.

And now, here he was, crumpled like a ball in the middle of an airport coffee shop, already having gone three days without a twin without knowing it. And he had the rest of his life ahead of him to be one half of a whole that would never be whole again.